"There is one last book left. It looks like it will be in vain this time." Ethan's tone was quietly resigned as he reached for the final item resting on the bottom shelf of the physical cultivation area—a sense of closure and disappointment already settling like dust in his mind.
He expected paper, ancient and yellowed, but the sensation was wholly foreign as his fingers closed around the object. Warm and cool at once—like rain on sunbaked rock—and heavier by far than any mere book had the right to be.
Ethan lifted it off the shelf. It wasn't a book at all.
It was a slab—dark blue, smooth beyond belief, and no thicker than a double handful of cicada wings pressed between thin glass. Each "page" was stone, yet so finely layered that they moved with a subtle flex, clicking as he gingerly sifted through them.
"Interesting." His curiosity, so recently battered by disappointment, sparked anew.
